Page 73 of Mistletoe Face Off
I blink at him, open mouthed. “You're dropping me from the team?”
He leans his elbows on his desk. “It's only temporary, until this thing blows over.”
I look from him to Abby and back again. “What about the captaincy?” I ask carefully.
The two of them share a look and my heart plummets to the floor.
“It's like that, is it?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Give it time. Take a break and let's talk about this some more in a couple days,” Coach replies.
“In a couple days? But there's a game tonight and tomorrow, and then we're due to head to D.C.” I protest with my heart hammering against my ribs.
This cannot be happening.
In the blink of an eye I've gone from feeling at the top of my game, the captaincy within my grasp, falling for the most incredible woman I've known in my life, to this. Dropped, no longer in contention for the captaincy. Told to stay away so I don't harm the other guys.
“That's just the way it's got to be right now,” Coach replies and I know I've lost the battle.
“I've given this team everything I've got. All I ask in return is that you let me play my part.”
“You can, just not now. Let it blow over. This will be tomorrow's news before too long and people will be on to thenext thing. Go home. Take some time. We'll be in touch soon enough,” Coach says, signaling the end of our conversation.
With a heavy heart I leave Coach’s office and head back to the locker room, now empty but for Dan.
“What have you got to say to me?” I ask, not bothering to keep the bitterness from my tone.
Dan places his hand on my shoulder. “I know this is tough, and I want you to know I don't believe you're capable of what they're saying about you right now. You're a good man, on and off the ice.”
My throat is tight and hot. “Thanks,” I say quietly.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze before he strides out of the room to join the rest of the team in tonight's game, leaving me alone with my thoughts, defeated, and utterly hollow, as useless as a broken stick on center ice.
Chapter Eighteen
Holly
I lean back in my seat and blow out a breath, my shoulders sore from being in the same position for so long. I give them a rub and look over the words on the screen of my laptop, resting on my desk in front of the window that looks over the street below. I focus on the world outside my apartment, noticing thatit’s snowing again, Christmas lights twinkling in my neighbors’ windows.
Satisfied with my hard work, I collect my empty coffee mug and pad across the floor to the kitchen, where I pour myself a fresh cup and ignore all of the dishes piled up since the story about Harry broke.
A lot has happened since Stephen, in all his slimy wisdom, decided to go ahead and publish the story. Harry was, rightfully, distraught, particularly when team management decided it was best he not play on the team until the furor blew over. I get why they made that decision, but it wasn't fair on him, particularly when his dreams of becoming the next team captain seemed to have been extinguished by one crummy article.
Confronting Slippery Stephen about what he had done was just as much of a waste of time as I had expected it would be. He went on about the need to provide a public service in sharing the story—aka providing sensationalist headlines to attract readers—completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't even tried to get Harry’s side of the story.
You know how they say never let the truth get in the way of a good story? Well Slippery Stephen is the poster child for that particular school of thought.
Knowing I wasn't going to get anywhere with him, I talked with Selena about whether I should go over his head and talk to our Editor-in-Chief, Kristina Albrecht. Her response was a resounding “Heck, yes!” after which I camped outside her office—much to her assistant’s irritation—until I managed to grab a few seconds with her, telling her what Stephen had done and asking her for her support in researching the story fully.
“Isn't Harrison Clarke the player you've been having these public spats with?” Kristina had asked.
“All fake. Well, other than the first one.”
She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Fake?”
“You didn't know about this?” I asked, but the look on her face told me that she did not. “It was a plan devised by Blizzard team management to help get them more coverage for the team and their Christmas charity drive. Stephen agreed to it.”
“Did he now? So, what do you want?”